A Prayer Before Birth
by Polomonkey
Summary: Arthur's being abused at home, and he can't let Merlin find out. Merlin/Arthur, violence, child abuse.
1. Lust, Caution

Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin

Warnings: violence, ritualistic physical and emotional child abuse, angst, slash.

A/N: Thought I'd try my hand at this as I've been kicking the idea round for a while. In this story, Arthur and Merlin are 17. Arthur's slightly different from canon, quieter and less confident due to his home life, while Merlin is a bit more garrulous to make up for it. So you might find them slightly OOC but hopefully it fits the story.

~III~

He's normally so careful.

If there's one thing he's learned over the last three years, it's caution. He doesn't break curfew, doesn't track mud into the house, doesn't drop things or play loud music or speak out of turn. Doesn't do anything, in other words, that might attract unwanted attention towards himself.

But today. Today was different. Today was The Day.

Because Merlin had kissed him.

Had thrown down his console mid-game and turned to Arthur, blue eyes darkening with intent before muttering 'Oh, fuck it' and smashing their lips together. And for three long seconds Arthur had done absolutely nothing, frozen in shock while fireworks exploded behind his eyes; long enough that Merlin began to pull back, a look of panic crossing his face, before Arthur had surged forward and returned the kiss as though his life depended on it.

Then it had been a haze of kissing and talking and snuggling up together on Merlin's bed as Arthur rested his head on his friend's chest and listened to him wax lyrical about how long he'd wanted to do that.

"But I didn't know how you felt and Gwaine was all 'Arthur likes you' and I was all 'how do you know?' because I kept thinking what if I went for it and you were like 'back, demon' and then our friendship got ruined and I'd be so embarrassed I'd have to move to Mexico and I don't even speak Spanish so I'd probably starve to death and-"

And Arthur had laughed softly because one of the things he likes best about Merlin is he can talk on and on for hours with precious little encouragement. Arthur doesn't say much himself but Merlin's one of the few people to make him feel like that's okay. He sometimes worries he bores people, leaving them to pick up the conversation when he can't quite think of the right words to say but Merlin always chats away with him happily, as though Arthur's the most scintillating raconteur since Oscar Wilde.

Arthur used to talk a lot more, he thinks. But then he realised people didn't always like it when he spoke, especially because he always said the wrong things. And that got him in trouble.

"I do like you," he says shyly when Merlin finally takes a breath and his friend laughs and presses a kiss to the top of Arthur's head.

"I should bloody hope so."

They lie in silence a while, then he hears Merlin take a breath, like he's building himself up to say something.

"Do you want to- you know, sort of… go out? But not like _go out_ go out exactly but you know, see each other or do things or whatever, I don't know…"

Arthur smiles into Merlin's t-shirt.

"Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?"

"That depends. Are you saying yes?"

Merlin sounds flippant but Arthur can feel the way his muscles have tightened slightly. He nuzzles into Merlin's chest.

"Yes."

He can feel rather than see Merlin's massive grin and his own smile widens.

Then a sudden fear grips him.

"Would we tell people?" He asks carefully.

"Eh? Oh, I dunno. Should we? I suppose we should. Gwaine'll be bloody insufferable though…"

"It's just… people might," Arthur tries to find a plausible excuse for his reticence. "People at school will talk about it all the time and it might ruin the… the specialness."

"'Specialness?' Is that even remotely a word?"

Arthur elbows Merlin as best he can from his semi-supine position.

"Alright, easy Carol Vorderman, I know what you mean. I wouldn't mind keeping this just between us either. Something only we know about"

Arthur exhales in relief.

He doesn't really care what people from school think and he'd secretly like nothing more than to shout it from the rooftops that Merlin is his boyfriend but…

If his father found out.

It's a thought that makes him actually shiver and Merlin grips him tighter.

"Arthur?"

"Yeah, no, just… that sounds nice."

Merlin relaxes and immediately starts burbling on about first dates and how he hates ten pin bowling but he loves laser tag and Arthur tunes him out, content just to lie there and feel the buzz of Merlin's voice vibrate through his chest.

He must have been more content than he realised because the next thing he knows Merlin is gently shaking him awake.

"I fell asleep?" he says slowly and Merlin giggles.

"Yes, genius. On me, I might add. You're lucky I'm such a tolerant boyfriend."

Arthur sits up and stretches. Then he turns and kisses Merlin on a whim because he's allowed to do that now and the thought makes him so happy he feels giddy.

Then.

"Wait, what time is it?"

"Er, it's like eight," Merlin says, looking at the clock.

_Shit. Shit shit shit._

"I have to go," Arthur says, scrabbling for his shoes.

"What, now? Have dinner, Mum left me some stew in the fridge, there's enough for two."

"Can't," Arthur says tightly as he reaches for his jacket because he's completely panicking and he can't let Merlin see.

"Why not?" Merlin says plaintively.

"I have to get home, promised my dad," Arthur says as he turns towards the door.

"Okay, well, text me later?"

Merlin sounds so mournful that Arthur just has to run back to the bed to press a kiss to his lips, even if it costs him a precious few seconds.

"I will," he promises and then he's out of Merlin's room and through his front door, setting off running down the street.

~III~

The porch light is on when he finally makes it home, and there goes his last hope that Uther was working late or out at a client dinner or anything else at all that meant he wasn't sat here waiting for Arthur to get in so he could…

Arthur forces himself to catch his breath, over-exerted from the sprint home. It won't matter to his father that he tried to make it back as quickly as possible. The circumstances around you breaking the rules are irrelevant, all that matters is you broke the rule.

He has trouble fishing his keys out of his bag because his hands are shaking so badly, and then he can't fit them into the lock properly and he has to remind himself to calm down because getting hysterical only makes it worse.

He takes several deep breaths in and out. Then he fits the key in and unlocks the door.

The house is ominously quiet and while Arthur isn't actually foolish enough to think he can escape to his bedroom, he takes three hopeful steps towards the staircase before the voice rings out.

"Arthur."

He freezes in place then slowly turns towards his father's office. For a moment he thinks he won't be able to walk forward. He closes his eyes, lets himself remember what happened earlier, Merlin's soft lips on his own, tries to take strength from it. There's a reason he's late today and it's worth whatever Uther can dish out.

The door to the office opens soundlessly and he slips inside. His father is sitting at his desk, still in his work suit. Arthur wouldn't be surprised if he had just sat there since he got home, waiting for him.

"Why are you late?"

Uther's tone is flat and quiet. Arthur never knows which he's more scared of; the times when his father's drunk and shouting, calling him every name under the sun or the times like this when he's perfectly calm and controlled. The rages are scary because Arthur can't tell how far Uther will go but he thinks he prefers it to the coldness. When his father's drunk he can at least blame his actions on the alcohol. When he's sober and in control Arthur can't hide from himself how much his father genuinely seems to hate him.

"I was at a friend's and I fell asleep." Arthur says, trying not to sound afraid. His father doesn't like that.

"Dinner was laid out at half past seven and you were not here." Uther's voice is still emotionless.

"I apologise, father."

"You know the rules."

Uther has risen from his chair and moved round the desk to stand in front of Arthur.

"Yes father, I-"

"Shut up. Do you not know the rules?"

Arthur is torn momentarily, between answering the question and shutting up like he was told.

_Crack._

The force of the slap knocks Arthur's head back to smack against the door behind him and his eyesight blurs for a second.

"Answer me."

"I know the rules, I just fell asleep-"

_Crack._

It's a stinging blow to the ear this time that rings through his head like a car alarm.

Uther won't hit his face again because it's too risky when Arthur has school tomorrow. He'll stick to parts of the body that aren't visible to prying eyes.

"I'm sorry," Arthur babbles, "I didn't mean to break the rules, it was a mistake-"

_Crack._

The third blow, to the back of his head, is so hard that Arthur loses his footing and ends up on the floor at his father's feet. Uther looks down at him coldly.

"I don't ask for much, Arthur," he says, and his voice is smooth as marble. "I put a roof over your head, feed you, clothe you, provide you with everything you need, and the only thing I ask in return is that you obey a few simple rules. Why is it that you cannot do this even this for me?"

Sometimes this part hurts worse than the blows, when Uther makes him feel like a failure, an ingrate.

"I'll try harder," Arthur says, trying with all his might to blink back the tears pricking at his eyes because his father hates any sign of weakness. "I'm sorry, sir."

Uther regards him for a few seconds and Arthur tenses, waiting for another hit. But Uther merely shakes his head, as though his son isn't even worth the trouble.

"Cellar, now," he says and his tone is a dismissal.

Arthur scrambles to his feet before his father can change his mind. He follows Uther out of the door and across the hall, where his father unlocks the cellar door. He makes to go inside then Uther's hand clamps down on his shoulder, forcing him round to meet his father's eyes.

"I will not be so lenient next time, Arthur," he says softly and Arthur swallows hard, nodding. Then Uther shoves him through the door and he has the presence of mind to fumble for the light switch and turn it on before the door slams shut behind him. He hears the key turn in the lock and then his father walks away.

Arthur lets out a breath before walking down the stairs. The cellar is mainly used for storing wine although there a few odd bits and pieces of bric a brac lying around on the hard stone floor. In the corner are two threadbare blankets that Arthur picks up and tries to lay out in some semblance of a bed.

The tears that threatened before come now, unbidden. He wipes at them almost distractedly as he rearranges the blankets – an inevitable aftermath of the fear and pain, like the shaking of his hands.

_It could have been worse._

_It could have been worse._

_It could have been worse._

He walks round the room until the tears have stopped coming, then he lies down carefully, trying not to shiver as the cold of the floor seeps through the thin cover. He's hungry and he wastes a few minutes thinking about the untouched dinner upstairs that his father will no doubt be throwing away right now. His head aches and it's hard to find a good way to lie down without it hurting, but he knows he got off lightly. His father hadn't used the cane at least, or anything else. A night in the cellar was uncomfortable and unpleasant but he preferred it to the alternatives.

It's hard to fall asleep but Arthur tries to think about Merlin; think about the little sounds he made when they kissed, about how he could hear his heartbeat through his chest, about the clumsy/adorable way he asked Arthur to be his boyfriend.

What had he said? _'Something only we know about.'_ The thought makes something warm uncurl in Arthur's chest. In the dark of the cellar, he hugs his secret and waits for morning. 

~III~

I hope you liked it!


	2. Hazel Wood

Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin.

Warnings: Violence, child abuse, caning.

A/N: Hello amigos. Please be advised that this chapter contains child abuse and caning, do proceed with caution. 

~III~

Arthur doesn't know exactly when it started.

The obvious answer is the day he dropped his mother's picture. Exactly two weeks to the day after Morgana dragged her suitcases out to Morgause's waiting car and left home forever.

It had been a long time coming, he supposes now, but at the time he had been paralysed with shock, never suspecting that Uther and Morgana's recent late night screaming matches and mutual aversion would end in something so dramatic.

He had always known Morgana was only his half-sister, that wasn't a secret. But the fact that Morgana had another half-sister named Morgause was. And for Morgana this was apparently one deception too far on Uther's part. After one final confrontation, she had packed up her things and driven away with Morgause, leaving her dishonest father behind.

Leaving Arthur behind.

He was fourteen and up until that point had cared about little more than football and Xbox. Three years older than him, Morgana had more been a source of stress and irritation to him in the last couple of years than any kind of ally. But the house was horribly quiet without her; he missed her more than he realised. And in the fortnight that followed her exit, his father was like a changed man. His face was grey, as if drained of all blood, and he shut himself up in his study for hours at a time. When Arthur saw him he was short and irritable, snapping at his son at the slightest provocation. He rarely came down to dinner and if Arthur woke in the middle of the night, he could hear his father pacing in the office below.

After two weeks wandering round what felt, to all intents and purposes, like an empty house; Arthur began to experience a powerful sense of loneliness. He had never felt alone before really; had always had friends at school and Morgana to play with at home and his father to talk to. But for the first time in many years, Arthur suddenly missed his mother terribly. And wasn't it funny, to miss someone you had never known? But a yawning emptiness was opening up inside of him in the newly silent house and Arthur was craving some reminder of the woman he had never met.

So he sneaked into Uther's study, the only place in the house where a picture of Igraine was still displayed. It was high up on the bookshelf, turned inwards slightly towards Uther's desk so that the best place to view it was from his father's chair. Which was where Arthur sat down.

Looking up at his mother, a soft smile curling up her lips as the wind blew her hair about her face, Arthur suddenly felt a flash of anger. Why was the photo positioned like that, so only Uther could see it? Why weren't there any more around the house? Why couldn't Arthur have one of his own? It was his mother, after all.

Almost before realising it he was out of his seat, straining up towards the photo on the top shelf. If his father wouldn't give him one of his own, he'd at least turn the photo so they could both see it better.

He stretched out on his tip toes, pushing his fingers as far as he could, just a little more…

But as he propelled himself up to finally make contact with the frame, he pushed too hard and he knocked it off the shelf. He watched it fall to the ground as if in slow motion. The glass shattered on impact, tiny shards flying everywhere across the floor.

For a moment he simply gaped at the mess, then he was on his knees trying to pick up the pieces of glass before Uther returned. But the crash had been loud and that was how his father found him, scrabbling on the carpet with the photo curling in its frame.

When he looked up, it was though he could see two weeks of pure rage building up in his father's eyes and he knew he was for the lecture of his lifetime. Bracing himself, he got to his feet, an apology on his lips when-

At first he couldn't understand what had happened. He had been upright and now he was back on the ground, carpet pressing against his face. Even as his brain was catching up to his new position, pain flared through the right side of his jaw and he could taste metal in his mouth.

Uther had hit him.

His father had hit him.

And the metal in his mouth was the taste of blood.

He barely had time to think further than that before he was being pulled to his feet again and he flinched away automatically. But his father was pulling him close, wrapping his arms around him.

"I'm so sorry, Arthur, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to… "

Uther was muttering apologies into his hair as he held him and Arthur instinctively squeezed back because it had all just been a horrible mistake, hadn't it? He shouldn't have broken the picture frame and Uther shouldn't have lost his temper and even though his body was shaking slightly from the shock, he wasn't angry. All just a horrible mistake…

His father let him go to examine his face. He clucked his tongue softly and then led Arthur to the living room, where he sat him down and left the room. He returned with a damp cloth, and an icepack wrapped in a tea towel. Gently, he dabbed the blood away from Arthur's split lip and then had him hold the ice pack against his jaw.

Then when the swelling had gone down a bit, Uther had made Arthur soup and let him eat it from a tray on his lap so he could watch television. Uther had stayed by his side on the sofa the whole evening and when Arthur finally went to bed, his father caught his hand and squeezed it; whispering "Never again, I promise".

But it had happened again. And again and again, and the only thing that changed over time was that his father stopped being sorry. 

~III~

It soon became obvious that Arthur couldn't do anything right. He didn't do well enough in school, he didn't score enough goals in football, he didn't walk straight enough, he didn't use his cutlery properly, he didn't wear his hair the right way. In the months following Morgana's departure, Arthur suddenly found himself scrutinised under the full beam of his father's judgement, and it was clear he had been found severely lacking. Uther criticised all that he did, picking fault with everything from the way he poured tea, to the way he shut his bedroom door. Arthur was constantly on edge, dreading his father's presence. The nerves only made him clumsier and less competent; dropping plates and spilling glasses of water much to Uther's disgust.

Then the punishments began. Arthur would be sent to his room without dinner for answering back, or be grounded for doing badly on his French homework. At first he was punished for more obvious offences; but as time went on he could incur Uther's wrath simply by forgetting to put his shoes away or leaving his bike out in the rain.

Apparently Uther didn't think groundings were enough after a while. It started out as taps to the back of the head and shoves to the shoulder; but the more convinced Uther became that Arthur needed putting in his place, the harsher the physical reprimands became. Uther seemed to have some kind of idea that Morgana had gone wrong due to insufficient discipline and he was determined to stamp out any similar signs of rebellion in Arthur early.

Arthur held up as best he could for a few months. He still nursed the hope that Uther's behaviour was due to his pain at losing Morgana – as he adjusted to the loss, surely his father would become less angry. And he was beginning to understand that he wasn't the easiest son to have. He was difficult and he was careless; leaving his football kit around and forgetting to wash up his dinner plates. And compared to Morgana, his performance in school was nowhere near as accomplished. He had the edge in sports, but Morgana had always been the brains and he supposed he was lucky she'd distracted Uther so long from seeing Arthur's lack of academic achievement. He resolved to work harder at school, and began to stay up late to work on his homework and make sure he attained good grades. It was hard and sometimes Arthur struggled, particularly in Maths which had always vexed him. It might as well have been hieroglyphics for all the sense it sometimes made to him and try as he might, he couldn't make the numbers balance – on paper or in his head. As he sat up night after night, frustrated by seemingly unsolvable equations and impossible theorems, it occurred to him that he might just be as stupid as his father seemed to think he was. He redoubled his efforts, determined not to give his father any reason to think badly of him.

But five months after Morgana left, Arthur reached his tipping point.

He was laying the table for dinner when Uther suddenly appeared behind him, causing him to drop the jug he was holding. It didn't break but it did fall on its side, flooding the table with water.

"For God's sake, Arthur!" his father roared. "Can't you do anything right?"

Arthur had long since learned his lesson about answering back but after five solid months of this kind of treatment, something inside him snapped.

"Well maybe if you weren't breathing down my neck all the time, I'd be less clumsy!" he shouted back.

"Excuse me?" Uther said, in a dangerous tone.

"You heard! I'm sick of you always having a go and taking everything out on me!"

"How dare you talk to me like that?"

Arthur knew he was on thin ice but he was feeling too raw and pissed off to say anything but the truth.

"It's not my fault Morgana left!"

Uther's mouth set in a hard line and Arthur knew he was in big trouble even before his father's hand reached out to grab his collar. Arthur ducked back and ran for the door. He skidded across the hallway, grabbed his keys off the hook, and burst out of the house, Uther's furious threats ringing out behind him.

It was cold outside but Arthur felt like he was burning up as he walked down the street.

_Why was Uther doing this to him? What had he done that was so wrong?_

_And would he ever stop?_

Arthur's hopes that his father's rage would lessen over time seem to have been completely unfounded. If anything, his father was getting angrier by the day.

Arthur walked for a long time, trying to figure out what to do. He considered going to a friend's house but the guys he hung out with in school – Val and Kay and Gavin – weren't really those kind of friends. He thought briefly of his childhood friend Gwen but he'd barely spoken to her since they'd started secondary school; it would be beyond awkward for him to randomly show up on her doorstep.

His uncle lived a bus ride away but Arthur didn't know him very well – he and Uther didn't get on. He had a cousin or two dotted around but he couldn't remember any of their addresses – he didn't see much of them either.

He could call Morgana… but she was miles away and was he really going to drag her all the way home because of a fight with Uther? Even in his own head it was starting to sound ridiculous. She'd probably laugh at him.

He thought about the last few months again. Uther had obviously taken Morgana leaving very hard but that didn't mean things had to continue this way. Arthur was nearly fifteen now and it was time to be a grown up about this. He would go home to his father and they would talk it out together. He would explain that Uther was making life at home difficult for him and surely his father would have to listen to that. Uther had just gone too far in the pursuit of discipline – all Arthur needed to do was persuade him he had no intention of stepping out of line, and that would hopefully be the reassurance his father needed.

He began to walk resolutely back to the house, practising tactics in his head. He would be calm and reasonable. He would start with an apology for running out, then he would try to explain why he had lost his temper. He would be truthful with his father and hopefully his father would be truthful with him. He imagined them both opening up, finally talking about Morgana and what had happened. If it went the way he planned, it could be cathartic, a new beginning for both of them…

When he finally reached the house and unlocked the door, the hallway light was off, which Arthur found strange. Uther usually left it on at night, to ward away burglars. He took a step towards the light switch and then a hand closed over his arm.

"Where the hell have you been?"

In the darkness Arthur's other senses felt heightened, he could smell very strongly the whiskey on his father's breath. A cold fear had started to pool in his stomach but he remembered his plan.

"I'm sorry I shouted and ran out but I need to talk to you about-"

"Shut up," Uther hissed, shaking his arm hard enough that it reverberated through his whole body.

"Dad, I just wanted to-"

"Be quiet!" Uther was dragging Arthur forward now, in the dim light he could see they were heading straight for the cellar. Arthur never went down there, except occasionally to fetch a bottle of wine for his father. He and Morgana used to dare each other to go in with all the lights off when they were little – invariably Morgana lasted longer than he did; he was always convinced he heard something moving in the corner and it was enough to send him hurtling back up the stairs, all bravado forgotten in his quest to get back to the light.

Arthur closed his mouth, heart pounding as Uther opened the door to the cellar, flicking on the light and pushing Arthur down in front of him.

When they reached the foot of the stairs, Arthur turned to face his father, who swept past him.

"I should have done this a long time ago," he said, leaning down to pick something up, and when he turned around Arthur's stomach took another sick lurch as he stared at the cane in his father's hand.

It was his grandfather's walking stick, a thin length of hazel wood that he used to polish to an impressive gleam. After his death it had ended up in the cellar along with the other relics of Uther's parents that he'd deigned to keep.

"Dad…" Arthur said, mouth dry, because surely he'd got this wrong, surely his father wouldn't…

"Come here, Arthur," his father said in a tone that brooked no argument.

"Why?" Arthur half-whispered.

An ugly look passed across Uther's face.

"Because I have let you get away with far too much for far too long. You're lazy and insolent and you have no respect for me or this house. Tonight's little escapade has simply proved to me that I need to take a firmer hand with you."

Arthur felt like the air was slowly being sucked out of the room. For a long second he looked at the cane in Uther's hand. Then he turned on his heel and made for the stairs.  
But it seemed his father had been anticipating this and he lunged forward, grabbing Arthur just as he reached the first step and hauling him backwards across the room. Arthur was half-hysterical now, twisting desperately in his iron grip, his breath coming in short choked pants.

Uther thrust him facedown across the old writing desk tucked in the corner of the cellar, Arthur struggling under the hand holding him down.

"Dad, please! Please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be bad! I'm sorry, Dad, please don't hit me-"

"If you don't stop squirming, I will tie you down," his father hissed and Arthur swallowed a sob, trying to still his body.

"Dad, please…" he whimpered but Uther made no reply. There was a pause. And then.

The first blow hit him squarely across his shoulder blades. He let out a cry like a wounded animal. It felt like someone had laid a hot poker on him. There was barely a gap before another strike caught him, this time in the middle of his back and it shocked the breath out of him. He bit his lip to keep from screaming out again but no avail, when the third hit landed on his thighs he couldn't help the wail that escaped him.

There were three more blows and Arthur barely registered when Uther stopped. Pain lanced across his body, clouding his mind, his back felt like it was on fire… He was dimly aware of slipping down from the table and onto the floor and then he was violently sick everywhere. Uther snorted in disgust above him and Arthur heard the sounds of him climbing the stairs but he stayed where he was on the floor, breathing in and out and willing the agony to lessen.

When Uther returned he threw a few cloths and a cleaning spray on the floor next to Arthur.

"Clean that mess up and then get to bed," he said.

Arthur heard his father walk away for the second time and then the footsteps stopped. He looked up to see Uther's gaze boring into him.

"I hope you've learned your lesson, Arthur," he said sternly.

Mute, Arthur nodded. 

~III~

The spirit of rebellion was crushed in him that night. Something had broken inside of him, irrevocably. The part of him that had always believed his father was on his side, was here to protect him, had gone. Over the next two years there were small defiances, each punished severely, but never again did Arthur try to reason with his father or privately hope that the situation would improve. This was the way it was now and the best thing he could do was keep his head down until he turned eighteen and could finally leave.

The anger he had felt that night was gone too. In its place was fear, and a small sickening sense of shame that flared up on occasion. As far as he knew, no-one else at school had fathers that hit them. He was certain no-one else in his class had ever been held down and beaten with a cane. And he knew his father had never touched Morgana. So it must be him. Something about the way he was that angered his father so much he was moved to violence. Perhaps if he was smarter, or neater, or stronger, or braver he wouldn't have driven Uther to this. Perhaps if he was a better son, his father would love him like he should.

But he wasn't. There was something wrong with him and he couldn't seem to fix it. So Arthur vowed to never let anyone know what went on in his house; not even his closest friends, not even Morgana. He would rather suffer in silence then let them know how lacking he really was, how much his own father hated him. He would keep the secret behind closed doors so no-one ever knew what kind of person he really was. He would never tell.

And then Merlin came along. 

~III~

Thanks for reading, do let me know what you think if you can


	3. Karmic Justice

Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin.

Warnings: References to child abuse, bullying, language.

A/N: Hi guys! Thanks so much for the cool comments, I really appreciate you taking the time to read it :) Here is some Merlin backstory

~III~

He hadn't been very nice to Merlin when they'd first met.

Scratch that.

He'd been horrible.

Merlin had transferred to their school in Year 9 and Arthur had seen him the very first day of school, in the field round the back.

His first glimpse of Merlin was a thrashing blur of blue and white, dangling upside down in Val and Kay's grip.

He was shouting incoherently, twisting to get free, but Val and Kay were already big as sixteen year olds and from what Arthur could see this kid looked like he'd disappear standing sideways.

Seeing him approach, Val looked up and grinned. "You met the new kid, Arthur? He's got a right mouth on him."

"Yeah, all we did was ask to borrow his lunch money and he got all uppity," Kay added. "So we figured we'd help him shake out his pockets."

Arthur smirked.

"Any luck?"

"Not yet. But we're hoping if we shake hard enough…" Val punctuated his comment with a vigorous jiggle and the new kid yelped again.

A small crowd of people had gathered to watch; some amused, some indifferent. There were those that looked uncomfortable too, but no-one was going to put their neck on the line for some new kid by protesting.

Except-

"Put him down!"

A familiar voice cut through the crowd and Arthur turned to see Gwen Fairfax walking towards him, a furious expression on her normally sweet face.

"Gwennie!" Kay called delightedly. "Don't tell me you keep turning me down for this streak of nothing?"

"No, I turn you down 'cause you're a dickhead," Gwen shot back. "Put him down, now, or I'm going straight to Mr Markley."

"Ooh," Val and Kay chanted in unison, but the threat of the fire breathing headmaster was enough to make them loosen their grip and the boy crashed abruptly to the ground.

Gwen ran over to help him up. He got up slowly, clearly a little dizzy, and Arthur finally got a proper look at him.

He was dressed in the requisite school uniform, white shirt and navy trousers; although the pocket was half torn off the shirt and the trousers were covered in dirt from his sudden drop. He had a thatch of dark, messy hair and ears that stuck far enough out to immediately prompt Arthur into dreaming up as many jokes as he could. But then the boy looked up and Arthur found himself staring into a pair of incredibly blue eyes. It was like for a second he could read everything from that one look; the hurt and the anger and the scorn and the weariness, and Arthur felt a sudden flash of guilt.

Then the boy looked away and the moment passed. Gwen helped him gather his books and limp back towards the school building. She walked past Arthur like he wasn't even there, though he could feel the contempt rolling off her in waves.

He and Gwen were best friends at primary school. Almost inseparable. But then they got to secondary school and somehow everything changed…

Still though. Who was she to judge him? It had only been a bit of fun, for God's sake.

~III~

He didn't really see the new kid much after that. Val and Kay still made a point of tripping him up if they saw him in the corridor, or knocking his lunch out of his hands in the canteen when their paths did cross. Arthur never instigated these incidents, but he never objected either.

They only had one class together – English. It was there that Arthur learned the boy's name was Merlin, along with half a million other facts because the kid never shut up. Merlin and Gwen sat behind him in class and though he never spoke to him, he could clearly hear the endless stream of babble Merlin spouted. That's how he found out that Merlin loved English and hated Geography, that Keats was his favourite poet, that he had a cat named Rosco, that he was allergic to liquorice, that he was scared of heights but still wanted to go up the Eiffel Tower one day, and a thousand other tiny little things that Arthur didn't even realise he had absorbed.

Well, it wasn't like he could tune him out, was it? And English was hardly enough of a distraction to keep his attention.

Arthur was pretty sure they hadn't made eye contact since that first day, but he swore he could sometimes feel Merlin's eyes boring into the back of his head.

Still, at that stage, Merlin was far from the forefront of his mind.

But then things changed.

Once Uther started to… once things got bad at home, Arthur found his life at school slipping as well. He was constantly stressed about doing well in his lessons, and started spending lunchtimes and breaks going over his homework. Val and Kay complained that he was no fun anymore, but the truth was he didn't find them very fun either. They floated around without a care in the world, all stupid pranks and immature games, and once it all seemed like a laugh to him but it had gotten harder to see the funny side.

Or perhaps he just couldn't take pleasure in seeing them shove some kid so hard he fell over now that he knew how it felt.

Either way, they started to hang out with him less and less and pretty soon Arthur was spending most of his time alone. He'd always been popular in the sense that he was regarding as both cool and threatening, but no one was lining up to be friends with him now. And he couldn't exactly blame them – he never made much of an effort with anyone before. In fact, he'd been downright rude to most of them, so what did he expect?

Arthur was lonely but in an odd way he felt like he deserved to be. Wasn't this what his father had been saying to him all along? That he really wasn't worth as much as he thought he was?

So for the next six months he adjusted to sitting alone at lunch, and partnering himself in class, and walking home on his own. Then, almost nine months after Merlin had transferred to the school, they had their first real conversation.

~III~

Arthur had been eating lunch atop the little staircase next to the Chemistry lab because no-one ever came up there. But the sandwich he'd hastily made in the morning tasted dry and unappealing, and he was only picking at it.

Last night had been bad. Uther had been drunk and ranting about something or other, and when he saw Arthur had forgotten to hang up the laundry, he dealt him a blow to the stomach that left him breathless and gasping for almost ten minutes. Shifting on the floor, Arthur could still feel the pain in his abdomen. And right beside it was a stone weight of anxiety and foreboding because Arthur had got his maths test back that morning and he only scored 17 out of 40.

There was no point trying to hide it from his father. Uther kept better tabs on his tests and homework than Arthur did. But he was going to be so angry…

Because he was alone; and because last night had been so terrible and tonight was going to be even worse, Arthur allowed himself a moment of weakness. Discarding the sandwich, he drew his knees up to this chest and rested his head on them, letting the tears come.

Only to start up in shock a minute later when he realised he had company.

"S-sorry, I didn't mean… I was just going to…"

It was almost karmic justice that it was Merlin who should have appeared on the staircase, that it was Merlin who got to witness the once great Arthur Pendragon at his lowest and weakest. Payback was a bitch, and Arthur had no doubt Merlin had been waiting for an opportunity to get back at the guy who'd been an idle bystander to his persecution at the hands of Val and Kay.

Arthur met Merlin's gaze, not bothering to wipe the tear tracks from his face because it was beyond obvious what he'd been doing.

Merlin didn't take the chance to make any snide comments, but promptly turned on his heel and left, presumably to go tell the whole school what he had just seen. Arthur couldn't even be bothered to care. How much worse could things get anyway?

Then, unbelievably, he heard footsteps coming back up the stairs. Arthur tensed for a moment, thinking maybe Merlin had already told someone to come and look at the show for themselves, but it was undeniably Merlin's dark, unruly head that popped back up into sight.

"Sorry, couldn't do it," he said, no trace of his earlier hesitance. "Mum said never to leave an animal in distress by the road and, you know, I'm not saying you're an animal or anything but you're clearly in distress so I reckon my mum's advice still applies and I couldn't just run off and leave you by the road. The metaphorical road, obviously."

This odd little speech was delivered in a single breath, and Merlin capped it off by sitting down on the step in front of him.

"What?" Arthur said, utterly confused by this turn of events.

"You're upset," Merlin said bluntly. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not up-" Arthur started to say and then realised the ship had rather sailed on that lie what with the obvious tear tracks and everything.

"You don't have to talk about it. We can just sit here if you like. Sometimes when I get upset I crawl into the airing cupboard in my house and hang out there for a bit. Is that weird? It's weird, isn't it? But it's cosy and I can use a towel as a pillow and have a little nap if I want."

He peered at Arthur suddenly.

"Do you want to take a nap? I can wake you up when lunch is over, if you like."

Arthur had to struggle for a second to marshal his words into order.

"No, I do not want to take a nap," he said finally.

"Yeah, I suppose it's not cosy like an airing cupboard here, is it? And there's always the risk that Dr Kilgarrah'll pop out of the lab and force some weird chemical down your throat as one of his evil experiments."

"Evil… what?"

"Oh come on, don't tell me he doesn't look like a mad scientist in a movie!" Merlin leant forward conspiratorially. "I've got this theory that he only took this job so he could hang out in the lab and mix up chemicals to create his own Jekyll and Hyde thing. We're gonna come in one day and he'll be all hairy and fangy and he'll chase us round and we'll have to throw test tubes and safety glasses at him until he turns back into a teacher."

Once again, Arthur found himself speechless.

"I'm pretty sure Hyde didn't grow hair and fangs," he said at last, but Merlin just shrugged.

"Hey, well, don't blame me if you arrive to class early one day and get eaten."

Arthur snorted in spite of himself and Merlin practically beamed back.

"I got you to laugh! I call that a victory. Wanna talk about it yet?"

"No," Arthur said, and then tried to soften his brusqueness. "Why did you come up here in the first place?"

"Gwen's off today and I get picked on if I go to the canteen by myself, so I came here to hide out."

Merlin's frankness was disarming and Arthur felt himself blush as he recalled his own past behaviour.

Merlin noticed.

"Yeah, I used to have to avoid you too, but now it just seems to be your dick mates."

"They're not my mates," Arthur said quickly.

"What changed? Pushing people into lockers not as hilarious as it used to be?"

Ouch. He supposed he deserved that.

"No, not really," Arthur said and then cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet Merlin's eyes. "I'm sorry. About before. Being a prick and that."

"You really were a prick," Merlin said.

"I know. I was horrible. I don't know why I-" Arthur felt his blush deepen but he persevered. "I really am sorry."

There was a long pause.

"Okay," Merlin said.

"Okay what?"

"Okay, I forgive you then."

Arthur looked up, surprised.

"What, really? Just like that?"

Merlin shrugged.

"Well you haven't been on my case in a while, and it was a very nice apology, and you do have a very cute blush spreading all over your face, so I think I should put you out of your misery."

Arthur's face was never going back to its normal colour again. He ducked his head in embarrassment and Merlin laughed.

"At ease, soldier. Here, have a fruit pastille." Merlin proffered the pack to him, and no sooner had Arthur accepted then Merlin launched into another long ramble, this time about how Ms. Nimueh might possibly be descended from Genghis Khan judging by the way she ran a classroom.

And just like that, they were friends.


	4. Make A Plan To Love Me

Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin.

Warnings: Just a wee bit of angst and some abuse references.

A/N: Hello there! This was originally meant to be one long chapter but I've decided to post it in two as the first half is present tense and the second is past and I HAVE NO IDEA WHY. I have issues with tenses. It's a whole big thing. You could say *puts on sunglasses* it's a bit intense... (yeaaaaaaah)

~III~

Arthur fell in love with Merlin slowly. There wasn't any one point he could put his finger on and say _this is it, this is when I knew, _it just seemed to sneak up on him. Like ivy growing round a tree, there came a point where he didn't seem separate from Merlin anymore. Merlin had grown into him, put down roots inside him, and he was inextricably as much a part of Arthur as his own hands or legs were. He'd never quite felt that way towards anyone before and it both confused and excited him.

After their first reconciliation on the chemistry lab steps, their friendship had blossomed. He started to hang out with Merlin and Gwen all the time. Gwen was too nice to stay mad at him once she heard he'd apologised to Merlin, and soon they had rekindled the friendship they had in primary school. Merlin had been amazed to hear Arthur and Gwen had been such firm friends before, and delightedly insisted that he had been the one that brought them back together, and was due proper credit. Gwen had rolled her eyes at Arthur and he had laughed, but privately he was incredibly grateful to Merlin for so many reasons. He wasn't on his own anymore and that made his home life just that bit more bearable.

~III~

The first time Arthur goes round to Merlin's house is about a month into their new friendship. It's a small house, in a slightly run-down neighbourhood but it feels homey the minute he steps inside. The house smells faintly like cinnamon, and it feels safe somehow, as though bad things don't happen here.

Merlin's bedroom is almost the exact opposite of Arthur's. Arthur keeps his room neat, Merlin's is a mess. Arthur stacks his books on a shelf, Merlin's are scattered around the room like ornaments. Arthur's walls are bare, Merlin's are a riot of colour and texture – band posters and postcards, concert tickets and photographs, bits of fabric and ribbon, and a number of drawings Arthur can only conclude Merlin had done.

"Yeah, sorry, it's a tip," Merlin says. "I'd lie and pretend it's usually cleaner but to be honest this is about as good as it gets. My mum refuses to come in and clean here anymore, she's says I'm like Stig of the Dump."

"Who?"

"Did you never read Stig of the Dump?" Merlin looks amazed. "I thought everyone had!"

To Arthur's surprise, he drops to his stomach and begins to wriggle under his unmade bed.

"It's about this kid who finds a caveman called Stig living in a load of rubbish and they hang out," Merlin's muffled voice comes from under the bed. "We did it in school. I used to love it. Me and my friend Will once went to the local dump and tried to build things out of the scrap like Stig did but we just got really dirty. My mum went mental…"

Merlin wiggles backwards and gets to his feet again, triumphantly waving a book in his hand.

"Here you go! Knew I still had it somewhere."

He shoves it into Arthur's hands.

"Take it, I gift it to you. Everyone should read it at least once."

"But it's a kid's book."

"So?" Merlin says. "Cool things don't stop being cool, just because you're older."

Arthur finds he has no answer to that so he slips the book into his bag and says an awkward thanks.

"You want some tea? Or juice or milk or whatever? I think there's some elderflower cordial stuff too but I wouldn't trust it, my mum gets it from her weird New Age friend who I'm pretty sure brews it in a cauldron or something."

"Tea is good," Arthur says and Merlin bounds out the room, leaving Arthur alone.

He perches on the bed uncomfortably. He finds himself ill at ease in new places nowadays. He doesn't like not being in control, not knowing whether he can escape the minute he needs to. But Merlin's room is comforting in its own way, being basically an extension of his personality. The vibrant chaos of the walls seems to mirror Merlin's own friendly exuberance; his quirkiness and colour. Arthur peers across to get a closer look at one of the drawings - which seems to be some kind of mythical creature, vividly sketched in purple and blue – when he feels something rub against his leg.

Biting back a cry of surprise, Arthur's brain catches up even before he looks down to see a ginger cat at his feet. Listening to Merlin talk to Gwen in English, Arthur had heard plenty about Rosco the cat and his various shenanigans. From Merlin's stories, he'd expected some big bruiser of a tom cat, but Rosco is surprisingly slim and neat looking, with three white feet and a white tipped tail.

Arthur has never been a particular fan of cats, he prefers dogs, but something compels to bend down and pick the cat up. Rosco is unresisting, almost immediately settling down on Arthur knees and pushing his head into his stomach until he strokes behind his neck.

Up close he can see a scar on the back of the cats head, bald of fur, and he wonders how it happened. He scratches Rosco's ears and the cat purrs contentedly.

"He likes you!"

Merlin is stood in the doorway, clutching two mugs of tea.

"Don't sound so surprised Merlin; I'm not actually a monster."

"No, you don't understand, he doesn't like anyone. Literally anyone. When Gwen first came round he sat under the bed and hissed at her for half an hour. And when the Amazon delivery man was here last month, he jumped on his back and tried to claw through his jumper."

Arthur laughs.

"Hope you gave him a tip."

"God, it was a nightmare. Seriously though, he barely even lets my mum pet him."

"Is he a rescue?" Arthur says.

"Yeah. I got him when he was three. He's always been wary of strangers. They think his last owner abused him."

Arthur looks down at the cat on his lap.

"I saw the scar," he says.

"Yeah. I don't like to think of how he got it."

Merlin sounds sad and Arthur is quiet for a moment. He forgets to keep stroking and Rosco head-butts his hand indignantly.

"Sorry," Arthur says softly and he resumes his petting. Something about the warmth of the cat on his lap is comforting.

Merlin is watching him with a funny look in his eyes but when Arthur asks why, Merlin just smiles and sips his tea.

~III~

Arthur gets a shock at dinner when Merlin's mum comes home and he realises she's the school nurse.

He's been living in fear of the nurse ever since he was sent to her after a bad tackle in football. He'd been okay as she patched up the wound on his leg where the other boy's foot had connected. But then she'd asked him to take his shirt off, so she could check if he'd hurt himself in the fall.

Arthur couldn't. It was a week after the caning incident and the marks still stood out raw and ugly on his skin, impossible to pass off as anything accidental.

He'd refused, saying he hadn't fallen that badly. She'd tried to insist but he'd been vehement in his protest, perhaps too vehement. She'd given him a long appraising look before letting him go, and even now he tries to avoid going by her office or passing her in the corridor.

And yet here she is, in Merlin's house.

"Arthur, isn't it? So nice to meet you properly. How's that leg?"

"Fine," Arthur mutters, then adds "Ms Emrys" as some kind of reflex.

Merlin snorts behind him.

"Call her Hunith, weirdo."

"Merlin!" Ms Emrys – _Hunith_ – admonishes. "He's just being polite, which is more than anyone could ever accuse you of. But you can just call me Hunith, dear," she adds to Arthur who nods, blushing.

When she goes into the kitchen, he turns to Merlin.

"Why didn't you tell me your mum was the school nurse?"

Merlin looks bemused.

"It's not exactly a secret. We've got the same last name."

Somehow Arthur had never quite put that together.

Merlin sees his face and relents a little.

"Okay, I suppose I don't exactly broadcast it. It's not really a path to popularity, is it, being a teacher's kid."

"Everyone loves your mum," Arthur points out, which is true. She's well known for being sympathetic and kind – she even lets tired sixth formers use the sick room bed for a quick nap in their free periods. It's for this exact reason that Arthur fears her – she's not some bored employee who can't be bothered to remember their names, she actually cares, enough to keep a special eye out for someone behaving oddly…

His fear diminishes somewhat as they sit down to dinner. Even he has to admit it's highly unlikely that Hunith will suddenly demand he whip off his shirt while they're sat eating apple crumble.

Hunith is, in fact, lovely. She obviously adores Merlin, listening happily to him ramble on about school and his English homework, but she makes an effort to include Arthur in the conversation too. He slightly stiff and polite at first, but he relaxes after a while and manages to speak a little more than he normally does.

After dinner, Merlin drags Arthur back to his room to play him some music he's convinced Arthur will love. It is rather nice, but Arthur's more interested in listening to Merlin talk about it, watching his hands wave around as he gesticulates, the way he blinks a lot when he's getting excited. He feels comfortable enough to lie back on Merlin's bed, Rosco purring on his stomach, and let Merlin's voice wash over him.

"Now this one, this one is… wait, hang on,"

Merlin's CD player is skipping and he reaches out to bang it with his hand.

"Stupid piece of crap- there we go, right, now, this one is really good. You listen to Bright Eyes?"

"No," Arthur freely admits.

"Well they're a bit teenage angst but I love them and they've had some amazing albums… anyway this song's one of my faves, even if it is a bit sappy."

"What's it called?"

"Make a Plan to Love Me," Merlin says.

They listen in silence for a minute.

"He's got a nice voice," Arthur says. He likes it.

"That's Conor Oberst," Merlin says.

Then he turns to look at Arthur determinedly, like he's made up his mind about something.

"He was my first crush. That's how I realised I was gay."

Merlin's voice is calm but Arthur can see his hands are shaking slightly.

"Okay," he says eventually.

"I just wanted to say that, in case you don't want to hang out anymore, because I'd rather know now."

Merlin's chin is jutting out, like he expects a fight, and Arthur thinks he looks so brave in that moment.

"I couldn't care less," Arthur says and realises it's true. He knows his dad hates gay people, knows that he's against gay marriage, knows that he assumes his son feels the same way. But Arthur's never known anyone who was gay before, and now the first person he meets is Merlin – Merlin who forgave him and invited him to his house and saved him from loneliness. So how could he toe his father's line?

"Really?" Merlin says, and his hands are still tightly balled up.

"Yes," Arthur says simply and Merlin's shoulders slump in relief.

"Good," he says. "Because I'm beginning to like having you around, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur wants to say it back but he can't quite form the words, so he smiles instead and Merlin seems to understand.

~III~

Thanks so much for reviewing, it's so nice and helpful and I really appreciate it! Next chapter up tomorrow :)


	5. It's Always Ourselves We Find In the Sea

Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin.

Warnings: References to abuse, homophobia

A/N: Right, here is the promised second half. Now that we're back up to the present day, there'll be no more jarring tense changes, I swear.

~III~

Looking back, Merlin kissing Arthur had been a long time coming. Despite being the best of friends, there always seemed to be this slight feeling between them, a frisson that hung in the air anytime they were together. But it wasn't until the summer trip to Cornwall that Arthur was able to admit to himself there was more between him and Merlin than just friendship.

By the time that summer before Year 12 came around, their little group of three had expanded considerably. Lance, a gentle guy who spent much of his time in the library had gradually become a regular fixture; and affable troublemaker Gwaine, who joined their school in Year 11, slotted so quickly into place that it was like he'd always been their friend. Then the inseparable Elena and Freya started hanging around with them; a pair everyone in school called the Yin Yang Twins, as Elena was blonde, loud, and clumsy and Freya was dark, quiet, and dainty. In addition, Gwen's older brother Elyan and his friend Leon often sat with them at lunch and invited them along to sixth form parties.

Arthur liked them all, even if he was still most comfortable with Merlin. He found Lance a reassuring presence, and although Gwaine's affinity for trouble could be stressful, Arthur felt safe with him too. It took him longer to warm up to Elena – her lack of tact made him nervous. He still didn't speak as much as the others, and while he knew Gwen and Merlin didn't mind, he feared the wider circle might find it weird. But Elena proved to have a heart of gold under all the brashness and Arthur found he ended up liking her very much.

It was Elena who suggested they all go to the beach. It was just before the end of the summer holidays and Elena's family had a little holiday home down in Cornwall. The plan was for Elyan to drive one car, and Leon the other and for them to spend a couple of days at the seaside.

Arthur had to tread carefully when telling Uther. He rarely spoke about his friends at home, knowing that Uther would be unlikely to approve of any of them. He had been disdainful of Gwen even back in primary school, as her father was 'just a postman'. He'd think Gwaine was a layabout, Lance a pansy, Elena a loudmouth, and Arthur dreaded to imagine what he'd say about chaotic, uninhibited Merlin.

The one friend that had met with Uther's seal of approval was Leon. Uther had done business with his father and pronounced the family to be of 'the right sort' - i.e. old money. So Arthur played it tactically and asked his father if he, Leon, and Elyan could participate in a friendly football tournament down in Cornwall. Luckily for Arthur, his father had been on the cusp of one of his distanced moods, where he spoke little and wandered round the house aimlessly. Arthur looked forward to these rare times when Uther was caught up in his own private world, so much so that he barely noticed whether Arthur was coming or going. He could slip under the radar for a few blissful days, without fear of being targeted. As it was, Uther barely listened to Arthur's garbled story of the football tournament, distractedly granting him permission before pacing listlessly from the room.

So they found themselves on one of the many Cornish beaches, sunning themselves in the late August heat. Arthur felt oddly carefree – a rare feeling in recent years. He was away from his father, he was with his friends and the sun was shining.

The only raincloud on the horizon came when Gwaine decided it was time for a swim and stripped down to his trunks without further ado.

"Gwaine's finally gotten naked," Elena crowed. "Who had five hours?"

"My money was on three, I never thought he'd last this long," Elyan said.

"Laugh it up fuzzballs, you're all just jealous of my impressive physique," Gwaine retorted, flexing his arm.

The image was somewhat ruined by Freya throwing a well-aimed handful of sand in his face.

"Right, you're for it now, little one," Gwaine said, scooping Freya up and dragging her down to the sea.

One by one, the rest of the party stripped down to their bikinis and trunks, ready to get in the water.

Arthur sat frozen.

He couldn't take his shirt off. Even if he could pass the fading bruises off as football mishaps, he could never explain away the criss cross of old and new scars that covered his back in white and red.

He had managed to avoid being shirtless in front of any of them so far. Football was the greatest challenge but he made sure to arrive early for practise and always changed in a shower cubicle. He knew the other players found it was weird, but let them all think he was deeply self-conscious or had a hideous birth mark or something. It was better than the alternative.

But now it seemed unavoidable, as his friends gestured to him to get up and join them in the water. He debated going in with his t-shirt on but it was white and might turn see through and he couldn't risk it.

"You coming Arthur?" Gwen smiled, looking fetching in a yellow bikini. Behind her Leon was stretching his muscles, gloriously relaxed and ready to swim without a care in the world. It made something bitter rise in Arthur's throat.

"I think I'll sit this one out," he said as lightly as he could.

"Not optional, mate," Gwaine called from the sea, where he was precariously balancing Elena on his shoulders.

"I just don't feel like it," Arthur said in a would-be casual voice.

"It's not cold or anything," Elyan put in from where he was wading through the shallows.

"Come on, Arthur," Freya shouted and then they all joined in, calling out to him to get in the sea.

It was all too much and he could feel his heart beating fast in his chest.

"I said, no!" he responded, much too loudly and sharply, judging by the shock on their faces.

"Alright, no big deal," Leon said, in conciliatory mode, and he was giving Arthur a look that Arthur couldn't quite stand.

"We'll be back soon then," Gwen said sympathetically but Arthur couldn't meet her eyes so he fixed them on the sand, picking up handfuls and dropping them back down again.

Arthur stayed like that for a while, shame coursing through his body. He'd made a fool of himself, proved once again why he just couldn't fit in. They were probably all talking about him now, shaking their heads at why he was so weird, laughing about how worked up he got…

"This seat taken?" a voice said and he saw Merlin sitting down beside him, not waiting for an answer.

He couldn't look at Merlin either; sure he'd see pity in his eyes.

"You alright?"

"Yes," Arthur bit out, much too quickly.

"Well, I'm not," Merlin said peevishly and that made Arthur finally look at him.

"Why?"

"Have you seen Lance and Gwaine out there? Or Elyan and Leon, for that matter? They look like bloody Greek Gods! I didn't even know it was possible for seventeen year olds to have a six pack!"

"Merlin, what are you-"

"I mean I'm used to Lance looking like he wandered out of some Vogue fashion shoot, but does he have to have the world's nicest arms too? And look at Elyan's back! It's like he's been carved out of marble!"

Arthur laughed in spite of himself. Merlin was working himself up to a right rant.

"And then there's me, pasty little skinny malink with my little chicken arms and legs. How am I supposed to compete? I can't get a tan like Gwaine's. I've got Welsh blood, for God's sake. Welsh people don't tan!" Merlin finished indignantly.

"You know Gwaine eats like a pig, all those abs'll turn to fat one day."

"Huh, not soon enough. I'm the gay one, I'm definitely supposed to have the best body. It's part of my stereotype." Merlin turned to look at Arthur dramatically. "If I can't rely on gay stereotypes, what can I rely on Arthur? Next you'll be telling me I have to chuck out my Barbra Streisand CDs and stop wearing pink hot-pants."

"You hate Barbra Streisand. And pink."

"It's not the point, is it?!"

Arthur laughed again.

"Oh, well, I'm glad you find my plight amusing," Merlin grumbled but there was a glint in his eye that suggested his whole purpose in coming over had been to make Arthur smile.

Arthur found himself almost pathetically grateful.

"Can't tempt you for a swim then?" Merlin said.

Arthur tensed again, then made himself relax.

"I don't really like the sea," he said. "I'm maybe… a bit… scared of it."

Another lie, but Merlin seemed convinced.

"Your secret's safe with me, Pendragon," he said, giving a funny mock salute. "I'm not going back in there anyway, I don't think I should stand directly next to any of them lot for fear of unflattering comparisons."

Arthur poked Merlin in the ribs.

"You look as good as any one of them to me," he said and then blushed instantly, because that was embarrassingly close to a confession. But seeing Merlin stretched out in all his glory next to him, all lithe limbs and smooth pale skin, Arthur felt a little giddy and reckless.

It was worth it when Merlin turned to smile at him, and Arthur couldn't help but think that he put the sun to shame.

~III~

Late that night, after a barbecue on the beach and several cases of beer, they all crashed back into the house. There weren't enough beds for all of them but Arthur had managed to secure himself the tiny room at the top of the house, with just about enough room for the single bed crammed in it.

Only when the time came to go to bed at about half three, Arthur had barely pulled the covers over himself when there was a knock on the door and Merlin poked his head round.

"I can't find anywhere to sleep," he whispered and before Arthur had time to consider it, he shifted over and beckoned Merlin into the bed.

It was a wide single, but a single nonetheless, and they had to shift around a bit to find a comfortable position for both of them. Arthur was glad he'd worn his t-shirt to bed, even in the heat, but Merlin was only dressed in his boxers and the feel of his naked skin brushing up against Arthur was dangerously arousing. He forced himself to think of something else, but the alcohol was clouding his judgement. He was so close to just reaching out and sliding his hand down Merlin's ivory stomach…

Fortunately Merlin seemed too intent on burrowing beneath the covers to notice Arthur's quickened breathing. They eventually ended up with Arthur on his side and Merlin on his back. But he couldn't seem to settle, and carried on wriggling around until Arthur could take it no more. He tugged Merlin onto his side, and then wrapped his arms around him so they were spooning. Sober Arthur would never have dared to be so bold, but Drunk Arthur was surprising keen to pull Merlin up against his chest and bury his nose in his neck. Luckily for Drunk Arthur, Merlin didn't seem to object either, snuggling happily down into the blankets and falling asleep almost immediately.

Arthur stayed awake longer, feeling the warmth of Merlin against his body, smelling the sea salt in his hair. He couldn't deny how he felt, wouldn't even try anymore. But that didn't mean anything could happen. Even in the extremely unlikely event that Merlin liked him back; there was no way Arthur could be in a relationship with anyone. He couldn't let anyone get close enough to guess his secret, and it would be so much harder to hide it from a boyfriend than a friend. The idea of Merlin knowing was unbearable, Arthur would die of shame. And how could he ever fool around or have sex without exposing the scars on his body?

But most importantly, if Uther found out, he would kill him. Uther's views on homosexuality were perfectly clear – he thought it disgusting and immoral. If he so much as suspected that Arthur liked boys…

No. It could never happen. Maybe one day, when he'd left home and moved on. Maybe one day if he ever managed to escape his father's clutches. But right now it was impossible. Merlin was completely off limits. He had to put it out of his mind.

When Arthur woke the next morning, he was lying on his back with Merlin cuddled into his side, head on Arthur's chest. He didn't dare move for fear of waking Merlin and losing this moment. Even if he knew he couldn't have him, Arthur wanted to savour the situation. Beams of sunlight were spilling through the gaps in the curtains, painting Merlin's face with a warm amber glow. His long black eyelashes were clearly visibly against his smooth skin, and his lips were slightly parted in sleep. And Arthur, who'd never so much as picked up a paintbrush in his life, was overwhelmed by the sudden urge to paint Merlin; sketch him out in all his beauty and keep this moment safe forever.

Then Merlin stirred and his eyes blinked open.

"Hey," he said sleepily. "Mmm… sorry. Didn't mean to…"

Merlin moved his head from Arthur's chest to the pillow, clearly thinking Arthur was looking at him in annoyance.

The opposite was true; but when Arthur tried to say it, the words caught in his throat.

A crash from downstairs reverberated through the house, followed by a loud cry of pain. Apparently Gwaine was up.

Merlin winced at the noise.

"God, so much alcohol. My head feels like there's a monkey playing cymbals in it."

"I'll make us some coffee," Arthur said, pulling the covers back, but Merlin grabbed his arm.

"No, stay a minute."

Merlin didn't qualify his request with any kind of explanation, just looked at Arthur as he slowly sunk back down on his back.

"Thanks for letting me sleep here," Merlin said softly.

"No problem," Arthur said, his mouth dry.

"I'm glad you came on this trip. I didn't know if… I mean sometimes, you don't- um… I'm just glad."

Merlin's eyes were very bright and Arthur wanted nothing more than to rock forward and plant a kiss on those soft lips.

But he didn't, of course. He didn't, because he couldn't and that was the end of it.

But later that day when he overheard Gwaine asking Merlin why he hadn't slept in the spare bed in their room, Arthur couldn't stop the tingle spreading through his chest.

~III~

And then five months later, here they were. Five months of dancing around each other, with Arthur falling deeper and deeper until he knew with some certainty that while he'd never make the first move, he wouldn't be able to resist if Merlin did.

And he hadn't. When Merlin kissed him, Arthur had forgotten every thought of caution he'd ever had; thrown them aside in favour of the wild pulsing happiness that was vibrating through his body.

That was last night, though.

And this morning, Arthur is afraid.

Uther unlocks the cellar door at 7.15 and Arthur bolts straight up the stairs and into the shower. His father leaves the house every day at 7.30, so if Arthur lingers long enough in the bathroom, he won't have to see him.

Last night he'd been running on adrenaline and fear, but in the harsh light of day Arthur is convinced Uther will be able to see his secret written all over his face. How could he hide it? His father knows everything, or so it seems sometimes. And when he finds out, he'll be angrier than he's ever been, and God knows what he'll do in his fury…

Arthur's breathing is becoming panicky and he forces himself to calm down. He rubs shampoo in his hair, wincing as he brushes against the bump on the back of his head. He tries to think about Merlin, imagines his voice prattling in his head, but it only makes it worse because Merlin is the issue now. How could he have agreed to go out with him? All the problems he envisaged five months ago are still there, looking no less insurmountable. If he lets Merlin get any closer than he already is, there's no way he won't find out…

He steels himself for the inevitable. He'll have to end it, today, before it has a chance to really start. He'll have to tell Merlin that he made a mistake, that it wasn't what he wanted after all. Even though that'll crush Merlin and shatter their friendship beyond repair; a thought that makes Arthur want to weep. But it'll only get harder the longer it goes on, and he has to be brave.

He dresses like a man preparing for his execution, and drags his feet all the way to school. He should find Merlin right away, take him aside in their form base and do it quickly. He's not ready, he'll never be ready, but he's numbly prepared; and as he turns into the road the school lies on, he quickens his pace.

Only to nearly fall over when a figure suddenly jumps out from behind a tree.

"Jesus!"

"Sorry!" Merlin's face is guilty. "I was waiting for you, and then I thought it'd be romantic to sort of pop out at you, but you were in your own world and I knew I should stop but I'd kind of committed by then so…"

Merlin flails his arms helplessly, and it's such a familiar gesture that Arthur can't help but smile.

"Who told you it was romantic to 'pop out' from behind trees?"

"Cosmo," Merlin says, straight-faced. "It's also where I learned how to wax my bikini line and match my eye shadow to my nail polish."

"Very educational," Arthur says.

"I'm a well-rounded individual," Merlin says seriously and then he reaches out and quickly squeezes Arthur's hand before dropping it.

"Was that another Cosmo tip?" Arthur says, confused. "Were you checking my life line or something?"

"No, idiot. It's just, I know we're keeping this secret for now, and it's fine, it's good, but you can't expect me to see you and not want to hold your hand, even for just a second."

Arthur blushes. Merlin's peering at him from under his eyelashes, looking for all the world like a cartoon deer.

And the realisation smacks him in the face that he can't do it; he can't let Merlin go. No matter how selfish he's being, no matter how bad things might turn out, he can't give this up. The one good thing that's happened to him in the last three years; the one person he feels like he genuinely couldn't carry on without.

Arthur looks around to check no-one's watching then he leans in and kisses Merlin on the lips, sweet and brief.

And all he can think for a second is how could Uther think this is wrong, how could anything that feels this good ever be wrong?

~III~

I really hope you are enjoying this fic, let me know if I can improve it in any way.


	6. The Word Made Flesh

Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin.

Warnings: Language, sexual content, discussion of abuse

A/N: Thanks so much for your amazing reviews Mango, Fariedragon, Bailieboro, DarkMetalAngel of Destruction, Yewdene, Below the Mistletoe, ohmygodwritersblock, lovePEOPLEandCOWBOY and Jules!

Just to warn you, the chapter contains a bit of smut (except it barely counts as smut as I am terrible at writing sex and it shows) so, er, that's you warned then.

~III~

Arthur feels like he's torn in two

On the one hand, he's living in fear. Every day he wakes up in a cold sweat, imagining what Uther would say if he knew Arthur was seeing a boy. And then, just as agonisingly, he imagines how quickly Merlin would leave him if he knew the truth.

On the other, it's the happiest he's ever been. He's wanted Merlin for so long; has craved to kiss his lips and stroke his hair and feel the warmth of his body. Being able to touch Merlin is like a dream come true, and Arthur doesn't think he'll ever get tired of running his hands over that pale, smooth skin.

Not all over, of course. In the month they've been seeing each other they've gone no further than a few messy hand jobs and a luxurious amount of kissing. Arthur would love to take it further, of course he would. Every time Merlin touches him, it sends a wave of sparks shooting through his body, a blissed out pleasure flooding his mind.

But he can't take his clothes off. And while Merlin doesn't seem to mind simply unzipping Arthur's jeans and reaching inside (expedience often being key anyway when they find a rare minute to be alone together), Arthur can tell he wants more. He took his own shirt off last week and Arthur was transfixed by the milky beauty of his skin; couldn't stop himself from pressing kisses down his chest and mouthing at his nipples until Merlin gasped and writhed beneath him. But when Merlin had tugged at Arthur's shirt, Arthur had stayed his hands at the hem; distracting Merlin by rolling him onto his side and kissing him long and slow. But Merlin's no idiot, he won't be put off for long, and Arthur's running out of distractions.

It comes up eventually. Arthur's been spending a lazy Saturday at Merlin's house (Uther thinks he's with Leon) and when Hunith goes out to meet a friend in the evening the film Arthur and Merlin have been watching gets completely abandoned. Arthur half-carries Merlin back to his bedroom, kissing him all the way before laying him down on the bed. He climbs on top of him and leans forward to lick at Merlins' neck, inhaling the smell of apple shampoo and that faint vanilla scent that clings to his boyfriend's skin.

"Wait, wait, wait," Merlin murmurs against his ear. "I wanna try something."

He manoeuvres them round until Arthur's the one lying on his back and Merlin's leaning over him. He dips in for a quick kiss and then unzips Arthur's jeans, pulling them down slightly. Arthur tenses but Merlin seems content to leave them there before he reaches into Arthur's boxers and begins stroking his cock.

The feeling could never get old, not in a million years, Arthur thinks. He looks happily down at Merlin, already half-hard with his ministrations, and then suddenly Merlin meets his eyes and grins. Then he's moving his head down and-

_Oh._

_Oh Jesus._

Merlin's sucking his cock.

It feels indescribably good. Merlin's mouth is hot and tight around him and when he looks down he can see Merlin's cheeks hollowing out, a faint blush rising across his skin as his eyes brighten in concentration…

It's too good. Arthur can't last. He feels his hips jerking involuntarily as he approaches his release and he's stutters out a warning:

"Merlin, I-I'm gonna-"

Merlin doesn't even blink. He carries on exactly as before and when Arthur comes with a muffled cry, Merlin swallows it down, like something out of a movie.

"That was… that was… wow," Arthur says weakly.

Merlin grins, lips swollen and red. He looks deliciously debauched.

Where did sweet, innocent Merlin learn to give head like that?

Arthur doesn't realise he's said this part out loud until Merlin laughs.

"Take it you liked it, then?"

"When I get my breath back," Arthur says. "I'll show you exactly how much I liked it."

He lies back and holds out his arm and Merlin snuggles into it, head on Arthur's chest like the day they woke up in Cornwall. Except Arthur's allowed to touch him now.

It's such a simple, glorious thing; having someone lie close enough to you that you can feel their heart beat through their body.

Arthur can't believe how lucky he is.

When he's sufficiently recovered, he takes Merlin in hand as they both lie there, and slowly brings him off. Merlin nuzzles into Arthur's neck as he does it, letting out little moans and bucking his hips up against Arthur's hand. He comes with a soft cry, and Arthur kisses him needily, struck by the urge to swallow up all the sounds that Merlin makes, to absorb as much of his lover inside himself as possible.

They stay there for a while, breathing each other in, and then Merlin stretches out.

"We're all sticky."

"Mmm," Arthur murmurs, half asleep.

"Come on," Merlin says with a glint in his eye. "We should take a shower together."

Arthur opens his mouth to agree, because that sounds wonderful, but a warning bell in his head cuts through the sleepy haze.

"What? Er, no, I'm okay."

Merlin tugs at his hand.

"Let's go, Arthur, I'll make it worth your while."

He waggles his eyebrows at him, but anxiety is spreading through Arthur now and he can't smile back.

"Sorry, I can't, I have to… I have to go."

"What?" Merlin says, frowning.

"I just remembered, I have to get back. I promised my dad…"

Arthur's already off the bed, doing up his jeans, picking up his jacket.

"You promised your dad what? Arthur, don't run off."

Merlin looks almost tearful, sat on the bed looking up at him, and Arthur feels terrible but he has to get out right now.

"I'm not, I swear, I just have to… I'm sorry. I'll call you."

He doesn't trust himself to say anymore so he heads for the door.

~III~

Uther doesn't bother to come out of his study when Arthur gets home, thank God, so he's able to run straight up to the shower.

He washes quickly, mechanically, unable to stop picturing the look on Merlin's face when he left.

He dries off quickly and heads straight to his bedroom to change. There's a full length mirror inside his wardrobe but Arthur tends to avoid it at all costs, he doesn't like to look at himself.

But today, for whatever reason, he pauses after pulling on his boxer shorts and turns to face the mirror. Turns to face what Merlin would have seen if he hadn't run out today.

The bruises on his body are mostly old and in various stages of healing, save for one splotch of vivid purple on his right shoulder, where Uther had grabbed him and held him in place the day before. His chest is largely unscathed, save for the thin white scar on the side of his abdomen. It's a least a year old, the result of scraping against the sharp edge of the coffee table when his father pushed him over.

There's also a jagged red scar on his left knee sustained when Uther threw a whiskey glass at him when he was fifteen. It's the only scar his friends and teammates know about since he's unable to cover it up using shorts or shin pads when playing football. They think it's from falling off his bike.

From the front, he is almost presentable. But when he turns around, and twists to see his back in the mirror, it's a different story. This is where the real marks of his father's anger lie. This is where his father lays the cane, or the belt, or, in one horrifying incident, the cricket bat. Some of the marks heal quickly, some only after a long time, and some will never go. His back tells an unmistakeable story. His sins are written on his flesh, distinct and unambiguous.

If anyone ever saw. If Merlin ever saw…

It's too scary to think about. Arthur turns away from the mirror and grabs the clothes he needs, shutting the wardrobe door firmly behind him.

~III~

Merlin calls him the next morning and he sounds strained on the phone.

Come over, he says. We need to talk, he says.

Arthur knows what that means and he swallows the bile in his throat because what else did he expect? Merlin has clearly figured out that he's wasting his time, that Arthur is simply not worth the hassle he brings. And how could he blame him?

He goes round to Merlin's straightaway, not wanting to delay the inevitable. Hunith ushers him in with a warm smile and tells him to go straight to Merlin's room. He dimly thinks that he'll miss her when he stops coming around, she's always so kind to him.

Merlin is sat in the middle of his bed when Arthur slips into the room. He's biting his lip and he can't meet Arthur's eyes.

Arthur sits down on the desk chair and waits. He hears a noise beside him and then Rosco jumps up and settles onto his lap, kneading his legs. Arthur rests his hand on the soft fur and feels like crying, but of course he doesn't. He won't make this any harder on Merlin.

"Erm, so I guess I wanted to talk because… er…" Merlin isn't often lost for words and Arthur feels compelled to help.

"You want to break up," he says dully.

"What? No!" Merlin sounds genuinely shocked and it makes Arthur raise his head to look at him. "Unless, I mean, is that what you want?"

Arthur shakes his head even though it doesn't matter what he wants.

Merlin's voice is gentle.

"That's not what I want, either," he says. "It's just… you ran off yesterday and I didn't know if it was something I'd done or if…"

He breaks off and scrutinises Arthur.

"Are we going too fast? Am I pushing you to do things you don't want to do?"

Merlin's worrying his lip again, his eyes bright.

"No," Arthur says quickly. "Jesus, no. Not at all."

Merlin relaxes slightly, leaning back on his heels.

"Was it something else then? Something to do with me?"

"No, it really wasn't, I swear. It was just…"

Arthur pauses. Across from him, Merlin looks so lovely, so open and caring – taking the blame when nothing could be further from the truth.

What if he just said it? What if he just opened his mouth and said 'My father hits me.'?

_My father hits me._

_He won't stop hitting me._

_I need help._

Arthur opens his mouth.

"I need to tell you something," he mumbles. "My…"

Merlin's looking at him, all expectant.

Arthur tries again.

"Merlin, my-"

The words keep getting stuck in his throat.

"I… I…"

Arthur closes his eyes a second.

"I don't like my body," he says in a rush. "I don't like taking my clothes off in front of other people, even you, and when you wanted me to take that shower I just… freaked out."

There's a moment's silence in which Arthur curses his own cowardice, then a lovely smile blooms across Merlin's face.

"Oh thank God," he says. "I thought it was something really awful."

Arthur smiles weakly.

"Come here," Merlin says, patting the bed next to him and Arthur gently shifts Rosco to the floor and walks over to sit down.

Merlin wraps his arms around him.

"I don't care, at all. I don't care if you never take your clothes off in front of me. Don't get me wrong, I think you're gorgeous and I bet your body is too but if you don't feel comfortable then just don't do it."

Arthur sniffs, tears still pricking at his eyes.

"Really? You don't think I'm a freak?"

"Arthur, it doesn't matter to me. Seriously. I want you. All of you, including the freak bits."

Merlin grins at him.

"Lie down with me, come on."

They settle on the bed, Merlin holding Arthur close.

"The only thing you do have to change is the fact that you keep stuff like this from me. You don't need to make excuses or lie. Just tell me and I promise it'll be okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Merlin drops a kiss into Arthur's hair. "You can tell me anything and it'll always be okay."

Arthur closes his eyes and presses himself closer to Merlin.

If only that were true.

~III~

They stay there long enough that Merlin drifts off to sleep. Arthur thinks he should get up and go, he has a Maths test on Monday that he should be studying for, but he can't quite bear to leave. And before he knows it, he's falling asleep himself.

He knows something's wrong the minute he wakes up, there are hands shaking him awake and that can only mean one thing. Uther hardly ever comes into Arthur's room at night, unless he's done something really bad and his father can't control his rage until morning. But he's here now, so that means Arthur's really in trouble. He can feel Uther's hot breath on his face and he cries out, bringing his arms up to protect his head as best he can.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't-"

"Arthur, wake up-"

"I didn't mean to-"

"Arthur, listen to me-"

"God, I'm sorry-"

"Arthur, please!"

Somehow it's the 'please' that breaks though his fog in his mind as he cowers on the bed, because he's never once heard his father ask anything of him politely.

He opens his eyes slowly, and a face swims into view.

Not Uther.

Merlin.

"That's it sweetheart, calm down now. It's only me."

Merlin's tone is soothing but his eyes are full of worry and Arthur jerks away from him, sitting up on the bed.

"You had a nightmare," Merlin says unnecessarily and Arthur nods, rubbing at his eyes as though he can pretend the tears were never there.

"Sorry," he says and his throat feels raw.

"Nothing to be sorry about. Are you okay?"

"M'fine," Arthur says, though he's not. He feels utterly humiliated.

"Must have been some nightmare," Merlin says shakily, and Arthur nods again.

"Do you want me to make you some tea or something?"

"No, I… I feel a bit ill actually. I think I better go home."

"Okay," Merlin says uncertainly. "If you're sure."

Arthur stands, his legs slightly wobbly.

"Yeah, I think I just need to go rest."

Merlin stands up behind him and Arthur's acutely aware this isn't so different to how he ran out yesterday.

Determined to do slightly better this time, he leans in to kiss Merlin and then wraps him in an embrace.

"Thank you. For today."

"Anytime." Then Merlin adds, so softly Arthur could almost pretend he didn't hear it. "Remember: you can tell me anything."

It's an invitation and Arthur knows it, but it's one he can't accept.

He gives Merlin one last forced smile and then slips out of the door. It starts to rain as he walks home, and he spends the rest of the afternoon gazing out of the window, watching it fall.

~III~

Next chapter sees the return of Valiant and Kay (boo!)... thank you all ever so much for reading and reviewing this fic, it's really fantastic to hear from you.


	7. Imaginary Numbers

Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin.

Warnings: Violence (not super graphic) and homophobic language. Also, maths.

A/N: Thank you so much to Castilian and helenealbra for the great reviews! And lovePEOPLEandCOWBOY - I really enjoy reading your reviews in French!

~III~

Another month passes. The Easter holidays loom ahead, the pleasure of a break tempered by the fact that AS-Level exams will come shortly after. Arthur's revision is already well underway. There's only one subject that's causing him problems.

Uther chose his A-Levels for him. Arthur knew History was out of the question, even though he loved it. Uther thought there was no point in living in the past; as far as he was concerned, Politics was the useful version of History anyway. So Arthur let that one go.

He did try to put up a fight for Philosophy though. Philosophy was Arthur's very favourite subject; he loved the ins and outs of ethical theory, loved puzzling through Plato's cave and Descartes' dualism and Kant's summum bonum. Arthur tried to win his father over with the argument that Philosophy developed the kind of logic and critical thinking skills that were useful in the world of business.

It didn't work. Uther picked Arthur's subjects based on their relevance to the company Arthur would one day inherit. Business Studies, for obvious reasons; Politics, to learn about statutes and diplomacy; French, as Pendragon Industries had a branch in Paris and were expanding to Lyon and Marseille; Maths, because the job required a good head for figures.

Arthur still remembers the disappointment on Ms Rowan's face when he said he wouldn't be continuing Philosophy. But she hadn't chided him, simply said it would be a shame to lose her star pupil and he'd nodded and left quickly, before she said anything else.

He tends to do well in Business Studies, although the subject often bores him. He loves Politics and gets his best marks there. He doesn't have a natural aptitude for French but manages to scrape by pretty well; especially with Lance as a study partner, who has a French father and is practically bilingual.

But Maths. Maths is the problem.

He has no affinity for the subject at all. Where he can make sense of dates and facts, of events and evidence, numbers leave him completely cold. He could never quite get a handle on it, and Uther was furious when he only managed to get a B at GCSE level.

Arthur had gone into his AS-Level year full of determination to do well in Maths. If he applied himself and put his mind to it, he'd have to get somewhere.

But the jump from GCSE to A-Level standard was steep; much steeper than in his other subjects. He'd been struggling before but now he was drowning. He was always one step behind in class, always the last to finish a test or to volunteer an answer. His homework took a disproportionate amount of time to finish, and it invariably came back with red pen littered across it, highlighting his many mistakes.

Merlin is in his Maths class. Merlin's always the first to finish a test or to raise his hand in class. Merlin's the best in the year and his homework always comes back covered in ticks.

Arthur isn't jealous. Well he is, but not in a resentful way. He covets the ease with which Merlin understands the subject, but he never begrudges Merlin his success. Merlin is never arrogant or smug about his ability. Instead he's excitable and enthusiastic, positively giddy when he masters a new equation or wraps his head round a theorem. His passion is contagious and even dry, eccentric old Mr Mitchell adores him. Arthur imagines he doesn't teach many students as committed to his subject as Merlin is.

Mr Mitchell is kind to Arthur too, in his own way. He never calls on him in class if Arthur's hand isn't up, and often when the others are engrossed in their work, he'll come to Arthur's desk and quietly try and talk him through the problem they're working on. But he has hinted that perhaps Arthur might think about dropping Maths for A-Level. He doesn't say outright that Arthur doesn't have much chance at getting a good mark, but Arthur can read between the lines. He wants to agree with Mr Mitchell, apologise for wasting his time in the first place, and tell him he'll drop Maths the first chance he gets. But he can't. He's not allowed. When the time comes, Uther has instructed him that he'll let French go. Maths is not an option.

It doesn't take Merlin long into the term to figure out that Arthur's struggling. He immediately volunteers to give him a hand. Arthur feels bad, because there's nothing he can help Merlin with in return, but Merlin is gracious enough to pretend that going over the Maths work would be helping them both out. Arthur is overwhelmingly grateful. Merlin's a patient teacher and away from the stress of the classroom, or attempting homework with Uther lurking in the house, Arthur manages to do a little better.

He wishes Merlin was in some of his other classes so he could return the favour, but he isn't. Aside from Maths, Merlin takes Art, English Literature, and Physics. Lance says it's an eclectic mix of subjects; Gwaine says it's a hot mess.

"Genuinely, what career are you headed for with that lot Merlin?"

"I dunno. I could be an artist who paints pictures about Physics. Or a novelist who writes books about mathematics. Or I could sack the whole lot off and become a musician." Merlin says idly. They're sat in the canteen at lunch, spread out over one of the ten seat tables. It's the last day of term before they break up for the Easter holidays.

"I wish I had your carefree attitude," Gwaine sighs, and Elena nearly spits out her drink.

"Are you serious Gwaine? If you were any more carefree you might literally take flight!"

"How dare you?" Gwaine says. "I'm a man of heavy burdens and responsibility. I chose my subjects sensibly. I didn't do a Merlin and pick my choices out of a hat."

"Oi," Merlin says absently from where he's working on one of his art assignments. Arthur's watching him in interest, seeing some kind of central figure slowly emerging from the wild colours and smudged charcoal that dominate the sketch pad.

"Gwaine, everyone knows you took the subjects with the least work and the hottest teachers," Freya points out.

"Exactly! Sensible choices!" Gwaine grins. "Not like little Arthur here, who apparently chose the most boring selection known to mankind."

Arthur blushes.

"Politics isn't boring."

"Take your word for it, mate. Personally I couldn't care less which middle aged white man is in power this year, but whatever makes you happy…"

"There's more to it than that," Arthur says defensively.

"What about Business Studies, then? Don't tell me there's more to that too."

Gwaine adopts a surprisingly dead-on impression of the Business Studies teacher, Mr Booker:

"If Tom owns 20% shares, but then sells them at a mark-up of 1.7, then buys them back at a stock market increase rate of 11.3%, how little chance does Arthur have of ever getting laid with his deeply uninteresting A-Level choices?"

Everyone laughs and Arthur tries to join in because there's no malice to Gwaine's joke, he's just messing around. But Arthur hates being the centre of attention in this way, hates people making fun of him, especially about the inadequacies he sees in himself.

Out of the corner of his eye Arthur notices that Merlin's looking at him and he's not laughing anymore.

"I've got one. If Gwaine continues to sit here and piss Merlin off with his inane chatter, how high is the probability that Merlin will throw custard in Gwaine's face?"

Merlin's tone is light but his hand grips the remains of his pudding pot as he speaks.

"You wouldn't," Gwaine's eyes widen in horror.

"Wouldn't I?" Merlin says and in a flash he lunges forward and Gwaine rears back, yellow goo dripping down his face.

"You are so dead," he says and leaps up from the table as Merlin jumps up himself and they begin a frantic chase around the canteen that ends in both of them being chucked out by a burly dinner lady.

In all the chaos, Arthur is forgotten about. He smiles as he collects up Merlin's things, holding the half-finished sketch reverently in front of him.

~III~

They're in the park after school when it happens. Merlin persuaded Arthur to move their Maths study session outside, rather than have it in the library as usual.

"I read something that said fresh air helps stimulate the brain and aids long term memory retention. There's an office in Australia where they do all their work outside and their productivity levels are, like, ridic."

"Yeah, well, Australia has the slight advantage of actually being warm, unlike good old Blighty," Arthur grumbles, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. They're sat up against a tree and the branches are currently blocking the last rays of sun of the day.

"It's not even cold, drama queen!" Merlin protests. "Now, differentiation. How do we feel about that?"

"We feel bad," Arthur admits. "Very bad."

"It's not that scary, honestly. Look, right, here's the graph. If the equation y = 3x2 then we can calculate that-"

"Wait, slow down," Arthur says, moving his hand to where Merlin's is skimming across the page. They accidentally brush fingers and Arthur can't stop a smile forming.

"Don't look at me like that," Merlin warns.

"Like what?"

"Like you wanna sack off Maths to take me home and differentiate the gradients of my body.."

Arthur nearly chokes on laughter.

"Did you seriously just say that?"

"What?" Merlin's a picture of innocence. "Doesn't mathematical innuendo turn you on?"

"Oh, God."

"So you don't wanna bisect my angle?"

Arthur rolls over on his back, laughing.

"Can't believe I'm dating such a nerd."

Merlin's hovering over him, hair backlit by the sun behind him, and Arthur's just about ready to throw caution to the wind and pull him down for a kiss when a shadow falls across him.

"Jesus, Pendragon, it really is true. You are a fag now."

Arthur sits up rapidly. Val and Kay loom above him.

They've barely exchanged a word in over two years. They're not in the same classes or social groups, and Arthur makes a point of steering clear of them. Other than a few sneers in the corridors, he never interacts with them.

"Guess that's what happens when you spend too long hanging round with queers like this one."

Arthur clenches his fist but Merlin just rolls his eyes.

"You guys know I am out and proud queer, right? So calling me that really isn't as insulting as you think."

"Piss off," Val hisses, turning his attention back to Arthur. "What happened to you? You used to be alright. Then you turn your back on us for what? This skinny little fa-"

"Shut. Up."

Arthur's suddenly on his feet, toe to toe with Val.

The other boy looks considering.

"We should beat the shit out of you," he says eventually and Arthur almost laughs. He spends every day living in perpetual fear of his father and what he might do to him. Compared to Uther, Val and Kay are about as threatening as six year olds.

"Go on, then," he says calmly. He can feel Merlin standing up beside him.

Val seems wrong-footed by Arthur's lack of fear. He frowns over at Kay, and then turns back to Arthur, clearly deciding on a different approach.

"Sorry mate, that was out of line. It's not you we have a problem with. It's him."

He spits the last word at Merlin who barely flinches.

"Oh, that hurts Val." Merlin puts his hand over his heart in mock distress. "I thought we were best friends. I was gonna come over to your house and braid your hair tonight."

Arthur sniggers and Val looks beyond furious. Before Arthur can blink, he gestures to Kay who steps forward and knocks Merlin to the ground with a single blow.

Arthur surges forward immediately, but Val's at his back, pinning his arms behind him. He struggles briefly but Val's grip is tight and he can't quite shake him.

"Okay, enough," Arthur shouts. "You've had your fun, now fuck off!"

"What is it about this little cocksucker that you like so much, Pendragon?" Val says into his ear.

"Get off!" Arthur bucks and twists, trying to throw Val off. Val maintains the hold and nods at Kay, who kicks Merlin in the ribs. Merlin rolls onto his side, groaning in pain.

"I think it's his pretty face," Val says. "Got you under some kind of spell, mate. Kay, let's help our old pal Arthur out, eh? Let's see if we can mess that pretty face up."

Kay advances on Merlin, raising his fist. Panic shoots through Arthur's body. He can't let this happen.

With a superhuman effort, he eventually manages to break free of Val's grip and goes straight for Kay. He grabs him by the neck from behind and slams him into the tree headfirst. Kay slides to the ground, dazed, and Arthur turns just in time to see Val barrelling towards him.

In a reflex hard won from years of private battles, he sidesteps and sticks his leg out at the last moment and Val crashes to the ground. Then Arthur's on him, punching indiscriminately at his face and chest. He feels such a vicious adrenaline surging through him, flooding his veins with blind, merciless rage. All he can think is that they hurt Merlin, they hurt his boyfriend, the one he loves. And why? Because they're bullies and cowards and they like causing pain. Just like… just like… For a moment Val's face morphs into Uther's and Arthur renews his blows with force. He can hear Val moaning but not much else, just the steady thrum of heart beats in his ear and the sound of his fists pounding down on flesh, over and over and over…

"Arthur, stop. It's okay, you can stop."

Gentle hands are pulling him back and he recognises the voice as Merlin's. He looks down, focussing properly for the first time, and sees that Val's face is covered in blood. He stands quickly, sickened by the sight, and suddenly horrified at himself. Val's still moving around at least. Kay's limped over to kneel beside him and he's looking up at Arthur with… is that fear in his eyes?

"Take him to hospital," Arthur says, his voice hoarse and strained. "And leave us alone."

Kay nods.

"Come on," Merlin says and he propels Arthur to walk forward, away from the others and out of the park.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Arthur says automatically. "What about you, are you alright?"

He stops in the street to look at Merlin properly. His nose is bleeding slightly and he's favouring his left side where Kay kicked him, but other than that he looks okay.

Except.

Except there's something in his eyes that wasn't there before. Something akin to the way Kay was just looking at him.

"I'm sorry I…" There's not really an end to that sentence.

"No, don't be, thank you for helping me. It was just-"

"Too far?" Arthur says.

"A bit." Merlin smiles wanly. "You… it seemed like you weren't really there. Like someone else took over."

"Did I scare you?" Arthur asks quietly, dreading the answer.

Merlin considers a second.

"I was scared for you," he says honestly. "But I could never be scared of you."

Arthur's feelings must show on his face because Merlin draws him in for a hug.

"It's okay," he says. "It's okay. Let's get you home."

Merlin walks him nearly all the way there until Arthur comes to his senses at the end of his street and realises Merlin can't take him to the door lest Uther sees.

"Here is fine," he says softly. "Thanks for seeing me back."

"Anytime. Now go sleep. I've got big plans for us this holiday and you need to be well rested."

"Big plans, eh? More Maths jokes?"

"If you're lucky," Merlin says and then leans in for a kiss. It's tender and comforting and Arthur's tries to put into it everything about today that he couldn't say.

Merlin seems to understand because he smiles lovingly at Arthur as they break apart, and squeezes his hand before he walks away.

Neither of them notice the man in the car across the street, watching them.

~III~

Sorry for such an OBVIOUS CLIFFHANGER but we're coming to the crux of the story now...


End file.
